


in the upside down frown of the dark

by twitcher



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Worship, Come Marking, Crying During Sex, Feelings, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Pre-trials Geralt, Sexual Coercion, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, cos this definitely has that, is there such a thing as an eye contact kink, just a bit though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitcher/pseuds/twitcher
Summary: "Look at me."The shifty green of Geralt's irises is even more astonishing up close. A soft lock of dark hair has fallen on his forehead, boyishly charming."Kneel."It's the first time Geralt hesitates; he flinches, but doesn't dive at the order. Jaskier parts his legs further. Pats the inside of his thigh invitingly."Kneel," he repeats, holding Geralt's skittish gaze.or: Jaskier gets dragged off the Path to train the new litter of witchers. Geralt is his very favourite pupil.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 217





	in the upside down frown of the dark

**Author's Note:**

> as always i cannot restrain myself when filling prompts & end up with full fics instead, awful
> 
> i swear i will run out of tad lyrics for the bloody titles soon

As ludicrous as it sounds, Jaskier liked it better on the Path.

Kaer Morhen is terribly dull. He gets restless after a few months, holed up at the keep with nothing but their litter of whelps to entertain him. He wasn't made for a stationary lifestyle--figuratively and literally, what with the way he was torn apart and mended back together stronger, faster, more resilient; all to withstand the solitary witcher life better.

The pull of Destiny chips away at his sanity. Jaskier itches to get back out. Slay the monsters. Get his coin. Visit his favourite brothel, or any brothel at all.

"Again," Jaskier calls, disinterested, when one of the pups lets his practice sword drop and shrieks to yield. He doesn't bother learning their names; not before the trials, when most of them won't live to see spring.

Well, _mostly_ he doesn't bother. Sometimes, though--

"Geralt, for the gods' sake. Show these useless weaklings how it's meant to be done."

Jaskier has come to know very well that looks are often deceiving when the time for trials comes; how many of his own brothers succumbed to the poison pumped into them? How many of them bigger, stronger than Jaskier? And him, caught in the middle of all that, barely coming up to their shoulders with how small and scrawny he'd been.

And yet he survived when they did not. He prevailed, and he thrived, and now, as reward, he gets to lead countless young boys to their demise.

So Jaskier knows not to _assume_ \--but it isn't an assumption when he says Geralt will make it through the trials. It is a certainty.

"Come on, pup, up you get. Pick up the sword before I have all of you flogged."

He watches more intently, now that Geralt takes position in the courtyard's centre. His fighting stance is immaculate; Jaskier would tremble, had he been one of the other whelps. Geralt towers above near all of them, tall and lanky still, though his shoulders are broad with promise. Jaskier is glad Geralt already excels at swordwork; he's not sure he could teach the boy much, not with how distracted he gets by the shift of lean muscle beneath his clothes, or the way his dark hair curls at his temples with sweat. It's in need of trimming, and Jaskier will mourn when it's no longer at a length where he could twist it around his fingers and _pull_.

Not that he ever did, but he'd like the choice.

His cock swells insistently in his leather breeches, though the pups remain clueless, their senses still pathetically lacking.

Jaskier keeps his eyes firmly on Geralt's supple form, growing only more wanting. The grace in the pup's movements is astounding. He ducks and parries with a remarkable ease, each blow calculated and meticulous.

By the end, when Geralt is panting heavily and pinning one of his brothers to the ground with a sword to his throat, well. Jaskier is still a creature prone to temptation. It's a miracle he hadn't spilled in his trousers just from looking, frankly.

Gods, does he know how magnificent he is? Jaskier wagers he doesn't; the boys know little of such human things as vanity. Geralt knows that he's tall and strong, and that concludes his value as a near-witcher. He won't come to realise his crushing beauty until years later, when women and men alike cross his Path with wanton looks and open legs. Jaskier yearns to show him _now_ , just how fine of a specimen he is.

Perhaps it isn't his brightest idea, but his cock throbs and heat pools in his abdomen, and Jaskier _wants_.

"Geralt," he says sternly when the trainees had dispersed, deserting the courtyard.

The boy cocks his head in Jaskier direction and keeps his eyes carefully down. _Good_ , the wolf in Jaskier purrs at the blatant display of submission. He wishes to look into the pup's brilliant green eyes before they're molten into gold, though he can wait for that until they are truly alone.

"Geralt, I'll need for you this evening." He keeps a faux indifference in his voice. "Bathe and be at my chambers by nightfall. Do not tell anybody."

Geralt's eyes flash to his for a split second. He nods curtly and disappears into the keep. Jaskier watches the sway of his narrow hips, the plump swell of his shapely arse.

At last, something to look forward to in this drab place.

***

The tentative knock on his door thrills Jaskier's heart immensely.

He could hear Geralt approach, of course. The boy moves quietly, but Jaskier's sensitive ears still prick up at the indecisive hitch in his breath as he stands before the entrance.

Jaskier schools his expression and waits, perched in a cushy armchair, hands in his lap.

"Come in," he calls pleasantly.

And, gods, Geralt is a vision, isn't he? Hair still damp from the washing, clothes that he fills out in ways just short of indecent. Jaskier wishes only that he'd peel his eyes away from the stone floor.

"Master."

Jaskier almost huffs with laughter. He's yet to get used to that; the Path rarely sees him being called anything other than _witcher_. Mutant, sometimes, if it's a bad day. Certainly not master, not sir, not anything he goes by here.

"Geralt, lovely. Come in. Shut the door."

Oh, and he smells delectable, too. Jaskier nearly makes to press his nose against that pale throat, drown himself in the scent. It's--warm, somehow. Unsullied. Pure.

"What would you have of me?"

A predatory smile stretches wide across Jaskier's lips.

"There's some changes to your training schedule I must enforce. Very experimental, really, I don't think the other boys are ready for it. But you are, aren't you, Geralt?"

And on instinct, like the obedient pup that he is, Geralt responds,

"Yes, sir."

Jaskier glows in anticipation.

"Good. Good."

Tension still sits tight in the lines of Geralt's strong body.

"Come closer."

He does.

"Look at me."

The shifty green of Geralt's irises is even more astonishing up close. A soft lock of dark hair has fallen on his forehead, boyishly charming.

"Kneel."

It's the first time Geralt hesitates; he flinches, but doesn't dive at the order. Jaskier parts his legs further. Pats the inside of his thigh invitingly.

"Kneel," he repeats, holding Geralt's skittish gaze.

Slowly, uncertainly, Geralt lowers himself to the floor. His hands settle dutifully on his thighs.

Jaskier's instincts tell him to grip fistfuls of those lovely curls; he resists for now, settling instead on gentle petting. Geralt jerks away at the first touch, just so.

"You are lovely, aren't you? Absolutely stunning."

A splotchy blush crawls from beneath the pup's collar. He looks to the side, shifts uncomfortably under Jaskier's scrutiny.

"Nuh-uh. Eyes up. Keep looking at me."

It's thrilling to have Geralt's attention so entirely on him. Jaskier moves slowly, so as not to spook the boy.

( _Like he's a predator and Geralt his prey_.)

The laces of his breeches give way easily. He can see the confusion in Geralt's eyes; can smell the anxiety spoiling his scent.

"I don't understand, sir. I--I'm sorry."

This time Jaskier lets his laugh ring freely in the still air, echo off the walls. He's glad the wing he'd claimed is abandoned. Kaer Morhen is no place for joy, after all.

"It's quite simple, pup."

Jaskier's cock is well on its way to achingly hard when he draws it out. He doesn't reprimand Geralt when his gaze drops to Jaskier's groin. The boy's breath catches on a sharp inhale.

"Suck."

He can hear the quickened drum of Geralt's heartbeat pounding away against his ribs. He can't hear much else, really.

Geralt doesn't move, frozen in place. His lips fall apart, warm, shuddering breath spanning over Jaskier's cock.

He doesn't repeat himself this time, finally giving into the temptation to grab Geralt's hair and force his head down.

"Be a good boy for me, Geralt. Open wide."

And, the goddess be kind, Geralt does as he's told.

Hesitantly, the pup wraps his gorgeous lips around Jaskier's fat cockhead, face pinched as if he's in pain. Jaskier snaps his fingers.

"I won't say it again. Eyes on me. Don't make me punish you."

Geralt's eyes look impossibly more green when they're glassy with unshed tears. Jaskier pulls tightly on his hair to see if he can get them to spill.

The boy seems lost, yet Jaskier finds that he doesn't mind. He's content guiding Geralt's head down, down, down. A hot, wet hole for him to use. Geralt doesn't gag; doesn't flinch; the wetness at the corners of his eyes brims over, stains his cheeks. Jaskier groans and thrusts his hips up, forces his cock deeper into that tight throat.

"Here's what'll happen, pup," Jaskier says as he tugs Geralt up and pushes him down to swallow more of his cock. The sound of it is _obscene_. "I'll use your pretty mouth until I'm satisfied. If you're good, I'll let you swallow. If you aren't--" a sharper thrust, mounting panic behind Geralt's eyes, "If you aren't _good_ , darling, I'll come on your face, and have you see your other masters with the scent of my spend all over you."

He'd thought the wet, squelching sound of Geralt's throat spasming around his cock was filthy, but it's nothing compared to the little whimper the boy gives.

"And once they know what a wanton _whore_ you are, darling--well, they'll just have to try you themselves, won't they?"

Geralt tries to shake his head, making his sharp teeth graze sensitive flesh. Jaskier groans at the threat, a shiver rattling up his spine.

"Oh, you don't want that, dear?" he asks mockingly, voice syrupy-sweet. "Would you rather I had you all to myself, then? A good little slut for your master?"

The edge creeps up on him unexpectedly, and Jaskier finds himself fucking Geralt's throat almost frantically. The power he holds over the pup is just as intoxicating as the maddening heat of his mouth. Jaskier growls, bares his teeth and holds Geralt's head down as he spills, moaning his satisfaction loudly.

Geralt sputters and chokes, his watery eyes never leaving Jaskier's when he tries to obediently swallow all that he's given.

Jaskier holds him stuffed full of his softening cock until Geralt reeks of panic, unable to draw air into his lungs and beautiful in his desperation.

"Good boy," Jaskier says finally, yanking Geralt up by the hair, cock slipping from his mouth.

The boy nearly doubles over trying to catch his breath. Jaskier can hear it wheezing past his abused throat.

He casts a glance down between Geralt's legs and smiles wickedly.

"Just one last thing, pup, and then you can go."

Still panting, Geralt nods.

"Strip."

When the boy's shaking hands fly to grasp the hem of his roughspun shirt, Jaskier _thrills_ at his blind compliance. He watches greedily as more and more pale, smooth skin is uncovered, and his mouth waters. Geralt is every bit as gorgeous as Jaskier expected; shapely and lean at the waist, though his chest widens considerably. Hips curved just slightly, just enough to drive Jaskier mad with the need to wrap his fingers around them, leave them bruised and marked.

He hums expectedly when Geralt stands before him in nothing but his smallclothes. The boy seems to hesitate with a white-knuckled grip on the waistband.

"Go on, pup."

At last, the fabric slides down those thick, alluring thighs, and Jaskier _gasps_.

The boy has, quite possibly, the most perfect cock Jaskier's ever seen. He eyes it hungrily, reddened and dripping at the tip, and all he can think of is how very _satisfying_ it would be to get Geralt to spear him open on that glorious length, how nice to take it soft in his mouth and feel it swell on his tongue. He nearly goes dizzy with the possibilities, though he tries to push them away, store them for another day.

He directs Geralt to perch precariously in his lap, the boy's legs spread obscenely around Jaskier's hips, his delectable cock jutting forward, wetting Jaskier's abdomen. Geralt's eyes widen and he moans faintly, nothing more than a stutter in his breathing that sets Jaskier mindless with desire. He smooths his hands up Geralt's sides, feels muscle shift beneath his touch. Geralt pants through clenched teeth. His cock twitches.

"Have you ever been touched like this?" Jaskier asks conversationally, as if he isn't currently burning alive with want.

Geralt shakes his head, hair bouncing endearingly.

"No, sir."

"Oh?" Jaskier feigns surprise as he rubs a pink nipple tenderly with his thumb. Geralt squirms, his lips coming open in a silent scream. "Never? None of your brothers ever climb into your bed and take you fast and rough like you deserve? Pity."

He leans in to nose along the column of Geralt's taut neck, to scent him like he so desperately wanted to before. The pup is dripping arousal; Jaskier can smell little else. He rakes his teeth over soft skin, for a heartbeat considers sinking his canines in to stake his claim.

When he wraps a dry hand around Geralt's prick, the pup seizes, whimpers--

\-- _comes_ immediately. He shakes in Jaskier's arms, thrusting his hips blindly as he rides out his release, his moans high and breathy.

Jaskier mouths at the boy's throat, his jaw, his cheek, before placing a chaste kiss to his parted lips.

"I'll expect you here on the morrow, pup. Same time. Understood?"

There's almost a hint of a smile in Geralt's voice when he says, barely a whisper,

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

***

Jaskier barely makes it through sword practice most days, with how badly he wants to just bend Geralt over and take him in the middle of the courtyard. Have the other boys watch, see what a _good boy_ Geralt is for him.

The pup grows comfortable with sucking cock; Jaskier doesn't have to guide him, doesn'thave to move a finger for Geralt to take him down that tight throat of his and swallow his seed. Once, he'd got the boy to spill in his braies just from Jaskier telling him to do it.

It's addicting, yet Jaskier feels the familiar itch of restlessness just out of his reach. He wants more, and he'll get it.

Quiet footsteps sound out in the corridor. Wool socks on the stone floor.

"Strip," he says as soon as Geralt shuts the door behind himself.

Jaskier is _buzzing_ with wanton impatience.

Watching Geralt undress is no less breathtaking than it was the first time. Jaskier wonders if he could ever get used to such utter perfection unfolding before his eyes.

"Stunning," he whispers, beckoning the pup closer, until they're face to face. "Perfect." He reaches out to touch all of that unblemished, smooth skin. It won't be long, now, until it becomes a canvas for ragged scars, only half-healed when the next comes. "Magnificent."

He drags his hands down the broad expanse of Geralt's back. Grabs a handful of the sinful arse that had been the bane of his existence for weeks.

"Master?" Geralt squeals, voice small and hesitant.

"Come lie down, pup."

Dumbly, Jaskier wishes the bedclothes were darker in colour; black silk, perhaps. Something that would compliment Geralt's skin tone better. Wide-eyed and covering himself shyly, laid down upon the white sheets, Geralt looks--young. Innocent. Temptation incarnate.

Jaskier kneels at the edge of the bed, dressed up still in boiled leather and harsh linen. He enjoys the contrast of dark fabric against Geralt's bare form.

"Spread your legs, dear. Let me see all of you."

Once more, Geralt hesitates, though Jaskier can smell his want, can see the way his cock fills rapidly where it rests at his hip.

Slowly, Jaskier touches the insides of Geralt's thighs. Pushes them apart. Geralt turns his head, biting his lip. He flushes a lovely pink.

"I'm going to touch you, pup. You're so _beautiful_ \--there's no need to be shy."

He doesn't have to remind Geralt to look at him. The pup's eyes snap to him, still wide and unsure.

"Where--where will you touch me, sir?"

Jaskier smiles kindly. He enjoys the sound of Geralt's voice, so deep and sinful, yet still crackling with youth.

"Oh, darling. I'm glad you asked. See, I'll touch you _here_ \--" he splays his palm gently over Geralt's throat, "and here--" drags it down, over his chest, brushing the boy's hardened nipples, "here--" down his firm stomach, until his fingertips can play over the length of Geralt's prick, "and _here_ ," when he finally dips his fingers lower, to where he's pink and tight and untouched.

Geralt gasps, his breath coming quicker, eyelashes fluttering. Jaskier can't resist him a minute longer.

The pup tastes incredible when Jaskier crawls over his body to kiss him. He makes a little sound of confusion, but parts his lips readily, lets Jaskier's greedy tongue in. Gods, he's so soft, so pliant, so utterly _perfect_. Jaskier kisses him until even he comes up short on breath, touching and touching and _touching_ every part of Geralt he can reach.

Geralt trembles beneath him, his cock sliding against the front of Jaskier's armour with how much he's _dripping_.

For a moment Jaskier considers a change to his plans, considers climbing astride the pup's hips and sinking all of that pretty, pretty cock into himself.

He takes a few slow breaths to refocus, moving down Geralt's body to savour more of him. The boy's skin tastes of the bland soap the whelps all scrub themselves with, and yet to Jaskier it seems like the most extravagant delicacy. He sucks feverishly at a spot below Geralt's collarbone. Doesn't matter if he bruises, does it? The boys get knocked about in training all the time. And if one of the other masters sees, well, what would they do about it? Jaskier sucks harder, worries the flesh between his teeth as Geralt thrashes beneath him, fingers gripping the sheets.

Jaskier pulls back, tasting blood. A mark remains where his mouth had been. Possessive satisfaction roars in his chest.

He moves in a flurry, kissing Geralt roughly and popping the cork of the oil's vial all at once.

" _Oh_ ," Geralt gasps when Jaskier's slick fingers trail over his full balls and lower still.

Jaskier knows that he's selfish, that it's cruel--but for a flash he thinks about how accustomed all the whelps are to pain, how much of it they'll have to endure once the time comes, and in that moment Jaskier considers just-- _taking_.

But Geralt looks up at him with such unreasonable trust, even if an anxious uncertainty stays a sour note in the air around him, and Jaskier's heart softens beyond his control.

"I'll make it so good for you, pup."

He does. He tries. He watches Geralt squirm, watches his cock leak so much it looks like he'd spilled already. Jaskier can barely fathom how much tender affection he suddenly holds for the boy. A witcher is not meant for such things, though Jaskier never cared much for what he's meant to be.

He latches onto a hardened nipple to steady himself, listens to the intoxicating moans punched out of Geralt's chest with each thrust of his fingers. One, two, three, and yet Geralt still seems so incredibly tense, so gloriously, unreasonably _tight_. He'll get his mouth on the boy, another time, spear him open on his tongue until Geralt sobs with it. Or maybe he'll--fuck, maybe he'll have the pup sit on his face, ride him like that, wrangle as much of his pleasure from Jaskier as he wants.

The muscle in Geralt's thighs jump beneath Jaskier's palms when he pushes Geralt's legs open wider.

"Sir?" Geralt breathes when Jaskier goes to undo his leathers. More hesitation colours the pup's voice.

Jaskier lies between his legs, shushes the boy with a kiss that's far too tender before he sinks into him in one soul-wrenching thrust.

For a single heartbeat, Jaskier feels as though he'd found faith.

He groans heartily against Geralt's lips. Focuses all the decades of carefully crafted self-control to not spend himself immediately. For the first time, Geralt's hands let go of the blankets and settle on Jaskier's shoulders, grabbing, clawing, scratching the leather.

"I--sir, I--"

Jaskier kisses the boy's panting mouth again. Smooths a hand down his heaving flank.

"I know, pup, I know it hurts. It'll get better. It'll get so, so good."

He watches the change in Geralt's expression; frown fading from his brow, his jaw relaxing, his features softening in pleasure. He watches the change and feels it like his own rebirth. Geralt stays tight and perfect, opening around Jaskier's cock like he was made to do it, and Jaskier barely keeps himself in check. He sets a pace and quickens it almost immediately, overcome in a way he isn't supposed to be.

Once he finds his voice, the boy moans like the most expensive whore coin can buy. His breathy moans grow loud and louder, echo in the cold room, fan the flame of Jaskier's arousal. He touches all he can reach, Geralt's belly and his arms and his chest, almost feels the boy's skin thrumming with how rapidly his blood pumps.

The pup unfolds before him in the most exquisite way, his defences lowered in the face of ecstasy. A splotchy flush colours his cheeks and neck. His powerful muscles shudder and quake beneath Jaskier's searching fingers. Each second finds both of them louder, more unhinged, barrelling towards their release faster than is decent.

It's the quickest fuck Jaskier's had in years. Decades, maybe. He'd be mortified, had there been any room for shame in him beside the choking _want_ \--to claim the pup, to have him, to keep him as his own, so no one will ever touch him but Jaskier.

The thought borders on delirium. Jaskier can't shake it. He brings a hand to wrap around Geralt's blood-hot cock, barely strokes it before the pup goes stiff, quiet, breath caught in his chest.

He spills with a whimper, twisting away even as his hole spasms wildly, pulling Jaskier in deeper.

Jaskier watches spend pearl on Geralt's quivering stomach, barely clinging to consciousness, wanting only to succumb to the feverish need.

Just as he feels himself tip over the precipice, he pulls out, comes on pale skin, a possessive growl at the back of his throat.

Jaskier drags his hand in the mess on Geralt's belly. Smears it around, _rubs it in_. His claim.

"Gorgeous," he says with a last kiss before rolling to lay on his back on the rumpled sheets. He rarely finds himself so utterly sated after a coupling.

That is, until the delightful scent of their mingling seed gets cut through with a sharp pang of anguish. He can smell the tears before Geralt's shoulders begin to shake, but it isn't long until the bed rocks with the power of his sobs.

"Geralt?" Jaskier says softly, turning to look his pup in the eye. Geralt hides his face against the pillow.

"I'm sorry, I--" It comes out muffled, but Jaskier still catches every strained word. "I'll do better, I'm sorry, sir, I promise, please don't--"

Jaskier's head spins. He reaches his hand out and freezes, afraid to touch, scared of breaking the boy further.

"You did everything right, pup," he tells the boy slowly, unsure of where the hurt stems from. Gods, but he loathes the smell of his pup's sadness.

Geralt shakes his head.

"You said--you said you'd only come _on me_ if I'm bad and I--" He's shifting, moving. Up on his knees, crawling down the bed, until he settles between Jaskier's legs. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ , don't make me go out like this, I-I-I don't want them to have me, sir, I'll be so good for you--"

Jaskier wasn't aware he had a heart that could shatter so readily.

Alas, he doesn't think he'll gather all of its pieces any time soon.

Geralt doesn't look up at him when he bows to lap at Jaskier's spent cock. He doesn't look up when Jaskier calls his name. Doesn't look up when Jaskier winds a gentle hand in his soft hair to pull him off. He sobs with Jaskier's cock still in his mouth and it's the most pitiful display.

"Geralt, pup, you weren't bad," Jaskier says eventually, stunned. "You were very, very good for me. No one will touch you, darling, no one but me."

Fuck, but he's a fool.

Geralt keeps messily working his soft cock, sinking down on it so viciously he chokes and sputters and wails, and Jaskier has no clue on what to do.

"Eyes up, pup. Look at me, come on."

That, at least, makes Geralt's gaze flick up. Jaskier finds himself once more drowning in the dazzling green of his irises. They glitter in the warm candlelight, mesmerising like a siren's song.

"Do you need me to come down your lovely throat? Want to be a good boy and swallow?"

The pup doesn't respond, doesn't react.

"Or do you want me to breed your needy hole? Pump you full of come so you can keep it?"

Geralt's eyelashes flutter as he groans his approval.

A shudder crawls down Jaskier's spine when Geralt sloppily brings his oversensitive cock back to hardness, desperation in place of enthusiasm. Like he'll die if Jaskier doesn't fuck him again, like he'll never find peace without it. Jaskier combs his fingers through soft curls and urges Geralt up into his lap.

"Careful," he tells the boy when he seats himself completely on Jaskier's cock, his face tensing and relaxing all at once.

"Please," Geralt mutters as he sets to ride Jaskier with reckless abandon.

Geralt's breath is a warm rush on Jaskier's lips. It's easy to close the scant gap between them, easy for Jaskier to sink his teeth into Geralt's plush bottom lip and hold him tightly as they rock into each other. Jaskier doesn't know when he'd grown this dangerously fond, but he presses his nose against the side of Geralt's neck, slick with sweat and fragrant with frantic lust. He thinks once again about leaving his mark to bloom there, in plain view of everyone. The sign of his ownership; something to keep his pup from the touch of others.

Jaskier was wrong, before. This is the shortest fuck of his life, right here, right now. He grips Geralt's hips viciously, bites just beneath his jaw. Sucks the skin between his teeth until the pup keens. His cock twitches in the clutch of Geralt's body, and Jaskier holds him in place when he comes.

"Thank you," Geralt says quietly. He doesn't make to move away. "Thank you, _thank you_."

Jaskier calms him once more with a kiss and lets the pup drift to sleep curled up on his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> i take kinky prompts on tumblr [@hardkinkbardkink](https://hardkinkbardkink.tumblr.com) cum on over loves x


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